


Fragments

by phantomlistener



Category: Shetland (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-25 22:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener
Summary: Rhona and Phyllis, beginning to end.Fix-it for season 3.





	1. Before

_i_

The music's too loud and the air tastes of cheap alcohol but Rhona grins at the bartender, asks after his children, and takes a beer and a glass of wine back to the tiny corner table where Phyllis is surveying the room with an air of bemusement. Placing the wine in front of her, she laughs: "Not your usual Friday night then?"

"Not...really." Phyllis looks at her, playing absently with the stem of her glass, spreading the tiny droplets of condensation with her fingertips. "So do you bring all your women here?"

"Only the ones I like." Rhona's gaze is open and happy as she sits. "Anyway, you took me to what might be the poshest restaurant in Glasgow, I'm just...returning the favour. Don't you like it?"

"It's not quite how I imagined the evening would go."

"...oh."

"But do I like it," Phyllis says quickly, the beginnings of disappointment on Rhona's face too much to bear. "It's very you." She leans forwards across the slightly sticky table to be properly heard over the music. "I can't believe you actually know the barman."

The air is close and hot around them, loosening the order of Phyllis' hair and making Rhona glad of the lightness of her dress as she shrugs off her leather jacket. "Misspent youth." She looks around, a fond smile playing across her lips. "This was my local for three years. Memorable years - or they would've been, if I hadn't spent so much of them in here getting pissed."

"Alright." Phyllis takes a sip of her wine, frowns briefly at the glass. "So what's a wild child like you doing living on Shetland?"

"It's not all rain and mud, you know."

"Even so. It's hardly Glasgow on a Friday night, is it?"

"I suppose not." She shrugs. "It was a good promotion. Good people. And I love my job."

"Simple as that."

"Some things are, you know." A mouthful of beer and then Rhona's attention is firmly back on Phyllis, her eyes sparkling. "So what about you? That accent definitely didn't spring fully formed from the waters of the North Atlantic."

“Surrey, I'm afraid,” Phyllis says apologetically.

“Don't tell me...girls' school, Cambridge, law school?”

“Oxford, actually.”

The look she gets in return is half-amused, half-exasperated: “Yeah,” Rhona says. “Either way, you're way too qualified to be in here.”

“I beg to differ.” She takes a gulp of wine, grimaces slightly at the taste. “Us Oxford types do like to get a feeling for how the common people live.”

Rhona barks out a startled laugh. “You're ridiculous, you know that?”

“I do try.”

It takes a whole hour for the sticky air to seep into their skin, for the thick taste of alcohol on the air to become cloying and heady on their tongues; the empty glasses on their table stare accusingly at their smiling faces.

“Let's get out of here,” Phyllis says into a brief moment of silence. “I've got a bottle of wine in my kitchen that's in desperate need of company.”

“You're sure?”

Phyllis looks at her with an expression that's softer than anything she's seen before. “Of course I'm sure, darling,” she says, and stands, pulling her coat on in a graceful motion that Rhona thinks should probably be illegal. “If you want to, of course.”

The taxi journey passes in something of a daze, all shy glances and the barely-there pressure of Phyllis' fingertips through the cotton skirt of Rhona's dress; by the time they pull up outside an expansive townhouse, Victorian brickwork and all, their hands are laced together, clutching on to each other as if they've been acquainted an entire desperate lifetime.

Taxi driver paid, Phyllis leads her up to the house, puts the flickering porch light on and fiddles awkwardly with the keys until the lock finally clicks; the door swings open in front of her and Rhona follows her through into the living room, blinking into the gloom until Phyllis flicks a switch and suddenly there are lamps in every corner, the soft yellow light spilling out across the room, casting sculptures and plants into honey-soft relief.

Phyllis ducks into the kitchen, comes back with a bottle and two glasses, and sets them down on the dining room table: "Are you drunk?"

Rhona looks up from where she's been surveying Phyllis' bookcases, runnng her fingertips cautiously along the edge of the shelf. "On three drinks?" She laughs. "No. Not drunk."

"Good." And then Phyllis is right there in front of her, so close that she can feel the warmth of her body as if it's casting its own gravitational field, pulling her forward. "Because-" She reaches out a hand and Rhona can't help but lean into it as it cups her cheek. The bookcase is unyielding behind her, and the urge to counter the feeling of sharp edges against her back is overwhelming.

It's tentative at first, their lips barely touching, but the kiss deepens and intensifies until Rhona is pressed between wooden shelves and soft skin, caught in a dizzying contrast of sensations; her hands smooth down the curve of Phyllis' spine, settle around her waist, and pull her closer.

It's almost too much: the brief noise of protest dies in Phyllis' throat; she gathers her willpower against the seduction of the kiss. " _Wait_." The first time she tries, the word is lost against Rhona's lips, and she can hardly bear to pause long enough to try again, but the urgency of it is a force unto intself: "Wait. Rhona-"

-and Rhona pulls back immediately, somehow finding space despite being pressed up against the bookcase. The fraction of an inch of space between them feels like a mile. "What's wrong?"

"It's-" She takes a step back, exhales what's almost a laugh. "Sorry. It's just that I've never...you know. Before."

"...never?"

Phyllis shrugs, manages a slightly nervous smile. "I was going to tell you."

"You..." Rhona takes a deep breath, reaches for her hand and laces their fingers tightly together. "...okay. Okay. I'm so sorry, I should have thought-"

"Don't you dare apologise," Phyllis says, surprising even herself with the fierceness of it. "This has been wonderful. _You're_ wonderful. It's just me, I can't- Not right now." Her gaze slips away from Rhona's as she adds, "I understand if this changes- if you-"

"Phyllis."

Slowly, she looks back at Rhona, half-expecting to be able to decipher traces of anger or disappointment written across her face - but she's looking up at her with warmth and something that really might be affection, still holding tightly on to her hand.

"I'm not interested in a quick shag, I'm interested in _you_. I thought you knew that."

Phyllis' response is a slow smile.

Rhona smiles up at her in return. "I'm going to go now." She shakes her head at Phyllis' noise of protest, squeezes her hand. "I don't want to push you."

"There's a spare bedroom upstairs." It comes out quieter than she intended, before she has a chance to really think about it, and Rhona senses it too because she laughs, delighted, and hesitates for the barest moment before replying: “I suppose you did promise me a bottle of wine. But...just talking,” she warns, mock-serious.

“Just talking,” Phyllis repeats, and steps towards her. “But you'll stay?”

Rhona grins. “I'll stay.”

_ii_

Weeks of longing, desire, and not-quite-daring have made her bold, and Rhona's skin is warm underneath her palm, the smoothness of her shoulder marred only by the thin strap of her nightdress. She lets the flat of her palm glide down over lace-covered skin and Rhona gasps, holds herself still as if she fears any sudden movement might scare her away, bites back a moan as Phyllis' fingertips trace arcane symbols through the materials. Hardly daring to breathe, she meets Phyllis' intent eyes just as a fingertip grazes her nipple, and not even the knife's edge of care and want can diguise the sound she makes.

As if it's an invitation, Phyllis repeats the gesture, swallows Rhona's answering moan with a tender kiss, and pushes the strap down off of her shoulder, inch after inch of pale smooth skin revealing itself to her careful exploration - the lace rasps soft-harsh across Rhona's skin, and then she's trembling under the perfect heat of Phyllis' tongue, as sure and methodical as if she's cataloguing each response.

All pretence of disinterest is abandoned.

One hand glides down across her stomach, curves across her hip and up underneath her nightdress; Phyllis pauses for just a second for permision, fingers caressing soft hair: "Can I-"

" _Yes._ "

She starts shaking the second Phyllis' fingers slide cool into wet heat, the reality and newness of her touch infinitely more overwhelming than all the times she's closed her eyes and imagined it, and if her fingers are slightly clumsy, nervous, even trembling a little as she drinks in the sight of Rhona flushed and moaning next to her, then it's still more than enough. It doesn't take much for Rhona's soft moans to turn into ragged cries; her hands clutch at the slippery silk of Phyllis' pyjamas and then fall helpless to her sides, the pressure building slowly but surely until it fills her entire body.

Phyllis muffles her cry in a kiss that's barely more than aimless pressure, holds her as she tries to remember how to breathe - "God," she says shakily. "You're _glorious_."

Rhona smiles up at her, breathless and happy: "You're not too bad yourself.".

"Ah, well. Damned with faint praise."

"No!" She shifts slightly to one side, winces at the protest in her muscles. "I didn't mean it like that. I just...I don't want to push you - y'know - everything at once might be-"

Phyllis presses a soft finger to her lips, smiles down at her confusion. "You're a darling. But the thing is...the thing is that I want you, Rhona." She ducks her head, half embarrassed. "I've spent so much time thinking about how it would feel...how _you'd_ feel...and I just keep coming back to that. I want you."

There's silence for a moment, half shocked, half assessing, and then Rhona's kissing her, hard and soft and tender all at once, pulling back just far enough to whisper: "Just tell me if you want to stop, okay? Any time."

Phyllis smiles brilliantly at her, and says nothing.

_iii_

“So who is she?"

Rhona looks up from her desk to see Perez leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, smirk firmly in place. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed you swanning off to Glasgow every weekend...it can't be for the weather, so. Who is she?"

"It's eleven o' bloody clock, Jimmy, get a life and go home."

"You're trying to sidetrack me, Rhona. Cassie wasn't a teenager so long ago that I don't recognise the signs."

"What signs?!"

"You're positively bouncing with energy." He pulls himself up from the doorframe and moves in to the office, settling on the edge of Rhona's desk. "And you're smiling all the time."

"Am not," she retorts, but her lips curve upwards despite herself and she sees Perez's smirk widen triumphantly. "Okay. _Okay_. So I'm happy - why does that have to mean I'm seeing somebody?"

"Aren't you?"

"No!" But the denial that was previously so insistent suddenly feels wrong, and she can't bear to sustain the lie. Sliding her glasses off with a sigh, she leans back in her chair and smiles softly. "Actually...yeah." She can feel the smile widening into a slightly foolish grin, hates herself a little for the transparency. "Her name's Phyllis, and she's...well, she's pretty amazing."

"Good," he says simply. "You deserve it."

"Now don't you be getting sentimental on me, Jimmy." Her voice is mock-stern, but the smile hasn't fallen from her lips. "I forbid it. As your boss."

"Well, as my boss, you should be setting a good example and going home. Don't you think?"

"Shut up." She pushes her glasses firmly back up into place and turns her determined attention back to the paperwork in front of her.

Perez stands to make his way out, but he turns back in the doorway, drawn by the temptation of one last tease. "So _Phyllis_ , eh?" he needles. "What is she, posh and rich?"

Rhona glares, although the effect is completely ruined by the persistent aura of happiness playing around her lips. "Piss off, Jimmy."

She's still smiling after he's gone.

_iv_

“Isn't that your colleague?” Phyllis asks, gesturing discreetly towards the departure gate.

The last flight back from Edinburgh to Shetland leaves in half an hour and of _bloody_ course it's the one Perez and Cassie are booked on as well. For one mad second Rhona is tempted to hide behind the nearest pillar – or there's a potted plant in the corner that would do quite well – before she collects herself with a sigh. “Yeah,” she says. “Unfortunately.”

“Problem?”

“Nah.” She flashes her a reassuring smile and takes her hand, slides their fingers together into a solid knot. “Just unexpected.” She glances over at him. “Oh god, he's coming over,” she mutters under her breath. “He's going to be insufferable for _months_.”

“Rhona!” comes the inevitable greeting. He grins at her, enjoying it slightly too much; Cassie hangs back. “We've got to stop meeting like this,” he ribs.

Rhona rolls her eyes. “Of all the people,” she grumbles good-naturedly, not letting go of Phyllis' hand. “I just can't get rid of you, can I?”

“Aren't you going to introduce me?" Perez says, all innocence, and Rhona shoots him a glare that promises retribution. Next to him, Cassie just smirks.

"Jimmy, this is Phyllis Brennan. Phyllis, this is Jimmy Perez, the most irritating man on Shetland."

They shake hands with identically wary expressions, sizing each other up, and Rhona rolls her eyes, takes her hand and drags her far enough away that they can't be overheard. “We don't have long,” she says softly. “I'm going to miss you.”

“Have good flight, darling.” Phyllis raises a hand to her cheek and strokes a thumb across her cheekbone, cautious in company.

“As good as I can without you,” she says, and looks round to see Perez watching with unashamed interest. She smirks, pulls Phyllis close, and winds her arms around her neck. "Nothing is going to stop me kissing you goodbye," she whispers.

"Good," comes the smug reply, and then she's kissing her, softly and deeply, lingering over every last second.

"That's better," Phyllis says against her lips when they finally part, foreheads pressed together. "Have we thoroughly scandalised your pet detective?"

Rhona laughs. "It'd take more than that. He'll just tease me for the rest of the month." She stretches up to steal one last quick kiss. "Now off with you, before I decide not to leave."

"That's really no incentive to-"

" _Go_ ," Rhona says, smiling. "I'll ring you this evening, promise."  She watches her leave until she disappears round the corner, then turns back to where Perez is still watching her with amusement. "Not a word," she warns him as he grins down at her. "Not one bloody word."

From the look he gives her, it's going to be a long flight back to Shetland.

_v_

The breeze coming off the sea is uncharacteristically warm, sweeping up over the rocks and ruffling their chair with gentle fingers. Far out to sea, a lone cargo ship skirts the horizon, a silhouette against the greying waters; the rhythmic pulse of the waves is a living thing, and Phyllis is entranced.

"I think this is the first time it hasn't rained," she says, more for the sake of speaking than out of any particular concern. Her eyes haven't left the horizon where it stretches round, a mysterious blur of sea and sky for more than 180 degrees.

"Yes, well." Rhona shakes out a blanket onto the smooth rock behind them and busies herself unpacking sandwiches and a flask of tea. "It's not always - what did you call it? 'Wet, depressing, and full of sheep'?"

"I didn't-"

"Oh, you did." Rhona gestures out to sea. "But look, not a sheep in sight."

"Are you trying to turn me into a - actually, what _do_ you call someone from Shetland?"

"Mad," says Rhona immediately, deadpan. "Bonkers. It's the open spaces, they do something to your mind and-" she snaps her fingers- "you can never leave."

Phyllis laughs. "Do you really think that?" she asks, sitting down next to her. "That you'll never leave?"

Rhona smiles, reaches out to smooth back an errant lock of hair that the athletic wind has tugged out of place against Phyllis' cheek. "I wouldn't go as far as that. I'd just have to have a good reason, is all."

For a second, Phyllis holds her gaze, then nods absently, drawn back out to sea by the triumphant screch of a gull wheeling high above the ceaseless waves. "It's just so-"

"Dull?" Rhona interjects with a grin, but Phyllis shakes her head, eyes fixed on the vast expanse of water in front of her.

"Beautiful. Now, give me me cup of tea before I freeze."

"Manners," says Rhona warningly, and is about to tease her further when Phyllis cuts her off with a kiss. Her lips taste of salt, slightly cold, but warming to the touch, and she can't help but lean into it, licking the sea from her mouth and curling fingers into windswept hair.

It almost feels perfect.

 


	2. After

_i_

The thing she notices most is the silence. Every room is heavy with it, a silence that wraps her up and weighs her down and sounds exactly the opposite of Phyllis' laugh.

Perez comes over with a bottle of wine and she tries, she does try, not to cry, because what's a minor tragedy like this next to the hard cold facts of the case? But his eyes are kind and he looks at her like he understands, and the third glass of wine is all it takes for the tears to slip out from underneath her careful repairs.

"It doesn't have to be the end of the world," he says into her hair. "She didn't know what she was agreeing to, really she didn't, and by the time she did it was already too late."

"You wouldn't have done it."

"Who's to say that?"

She looks up at him then, tugs herself out of his embrace with a hurt expression. "Don't joke about this," she says, and takes a mutinous gulp of wine. "Not funny."

"Not joking," he counters. "Imagine it was Cassie, imagine she promised me it was all a set-up...truth is, I have no idea what I'd have done. None of us do, until it happens."

Rhona says nothing, her gaze slightly resentful, unable to contradict him but unwilling to say a word in Phyllis' defence.

"And anyway, you love her."

She starts, shocked eyes meeting his for the briefest of seconds before skittering away and fixing firmly on the floor. "I _thought_ I-"

"No. You love her." He shakes his head, cuts her off before she can argue: "Rhona, you do. The question is, do you love her enough to forgive her?"

The question echoes into a silence broken only by the metronomic heartbeat of the antique clock on the windowsill.

"After Tosh-" her voice breaks slightly on the name- "how can I forgive that, Jimmy?"

He winces. "She didn't know. Rhona, she didn't even suspect – you really think she's the sort of woman who could let that happen without saying something?"

Rhona shakes her head.

"Well then."

"I'm...I'm _furious_ with her, Jimmy. How could she be so stupid?!"

"You and I both know it's not that simple." He sighs. "Look. That bastard Sarwar has ruined enough lives already. Don't let him add yours to the list."

She laughs, a rich, bitter laugh, and the wine laps dangerously close to the rim of her glass, threatening to spill all over the floral cushion at her elbow. "You can't let her off the hook that easily. She might have managed to avoid prison-" her voice barely wavers on the word- "but she didn't even _try_ to fix her mistakes, did she."

For one disbelieving moment, Jimmy just stares at her: "Oh, god. You don't know, do you?"

"Know _what_?" A note of panic plays beneath her voice and she sits up straighter, stares at him in horror. "What else has she done?"

He says nothing, just studies her for a moment, runs a hand over stubble that's a couple of days overdue for a shave.

" _Please_."

"It's not...." He trails off and reaches for her hand. "It's not bad. Actually, it was quite brave of her. Calvin Sarwar isn't a man to be confronted lightly."

"You mean she-" Rhona pulls her hand roughly out of Perez's grasp. "You let her go in there - into danger - and you didn't think to tell me? As your boss-"

"She asked me not to. She begged me. Said you'd just think she was doing it to get your attention – or worse, to try and get you back." A moment of hesitation. "And honestly? Seeing you now, I think she was right."

The silence is heavy as she mentally calculates and recalculates every shred of evidence she thought she had.

"I don't know what to do," she admits eventually, her voice soft and vulnerable.

"I know," Perez says. "We'll figure it out."

_ii_

She is going to _kill_ him.

Either that, or she's going to enact whatever horrific punishment is a suitable revenge for opening her door at half past ten in the evening to his slightly apologetic face, and next to him – _her_.

"You two need to talk," he says, winces at the flash of fury in her eyes and raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm leaving."

And then they're alone.

"He said you wanted to see me," Phyllis offers, tentatively.

"He lied," Rhona says through gritted teeth. She almost makes it sound believable, almost makes it sound as if she hadn't spent the last week half-determined to call her, hadn't hovered over the telephone with trembling fingers and traced out the familiar string of numbers so many times that it had approached ritual.

Almost.

"I know you're angry with me," Phyllis says. The fine rain that's covered the island for the past three days is gathering pearl-like in her hair, and it shimmers in the warm light that spills out from the hallway. "You're right to be angry. I just-" She hesitates. "Can I come in? It's freezing out here."

Rhona steps aside rather ungraciously. "Don't think my letting you in means anything," she warns, closing the door behind her.

Phyllis exhales a slightly trembling laugh, nervous and out of place. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"Right. So...what did you _think_ would happen when it all came out? That I'd just accept it?!"

"No," Phyllis says softly. Her fingers twist at the hem of her jacket, picking at a loose thread. "I thought I could fix it. Rhona, I swear, I never knew-"

"Don't lie to me. Not now."

"It's the truth."

Rhona risks a glance up at her, looks away the moment she sees the tears.

"I just...I _believed_ him, Rhona. He's my _son_." Her voice cracks on the last word and she brushes at the escaped tears as if they're a minor annoyance.

"So what was I, a convenient cover story? Or did you think- god, did you think being with me could get you closer to the case?!"

" _No_!" comes the immediate response, and Phyllis is looking at her with wide-eyed shock, her hand reaching halfway for Rhona's cheek before falling helplessly back to her side. "Christ, Rhona, how can you even think-"

She shakes her head, unable to piece together a response from the words lying half-formed on her tongue, the barrier that has so far held her tears in check finally beginning to fail: "I just-" And then she's crying, hiding her face behind hands that won't stop shaking, dimly aware of Phyllis reaching towards her with an aborted tenderness that only makes her cry harder.

"Rhona-"

She looks up at that, caught by the intimacy and urgency in her voice as easily if they were back in Edinburgh, tangled together on the sofa after a leisurely bottle of wine.

"I met you before I even knew there _was_ a case, you know that." Phyllis' voice is pitched low and desperate, nothing of the flirt about it. "It wasn't – it was _never_ – it's all real and it always has been, I promise you." She hesitates. "I really do-"

" _Don't_ ," Rhona says sharply, panic cutting through the softness of tears. "You have no right."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I-"

"If you never want to see me again then I'll go. I won't fight you, Rhona, I-"

"Stay."

The word is barely that, more a whisper of air than a thing of intent, but it holds Phyllis immediately in thrall. She takes a step forward, the space between them suddenly less than a chasm. "Are you-"

"Yeah." Wiping her cheeks, she breathes in deeply, the walls rebuilding with invisible speed. "The spare room's made up," she says, and offers a tiny smile, a brief bolt of sunshine that is absorbed just as quickly into overwhelming clouds.

Phyllis nods, says nothing.

It's a start.

_iii_

The first time it happens, she thinks she's dreaming: the squeak of the bedroom door, harsh light angling in from the hallway, Rhona's feet soft and tentative on the wooden floor. The familiar dip of the mattress as Rhona settles into a space just out of reach before sighing and turning into Phyllis' embrace with the warning of a whispered " _shhhhhh_ ", warm and soft and real as ever.

It's the weight of her that shocks Phyllis into wakefulness, the undeniable pressure of her head on her shoulder and the solid warmth of her arm across Phyllis' stomach signifiers of a reality she had thought forfeit. "What-"

" _Shhhhhh_ ," Rhona says again, her body strung too-tight where it trembles against Phyllis' side. She pretends not to notice the tears soaking gently through the shoulder of her borrowed t-shirt, memorises instead the heat of Rhona's breath sighing across her neck, the heavy weight of her body when she finally relaxes enough to fall asleep, and when Rhona's fingers curl aimlessly over her breast, she moves her hand away without waking her.

When Phyllis wakes in the morning, she's gone.

She comes to expect it, this silent ritual, although some nights Rhona stays away. She comes to accept the banal conversation over breakfast, the awkward silences, even Rhona's inability to look her in the eye.

And then the fifth time it happens, Rhona kisses her.

Barely awake, in the few seconds between Rhona's shaking hand tracing the line of her cheekbone and the kiss itself, all Phyllis can think is that it can't be real. She's reconciled herself to the thought that perhaps Rhona will never kiss her again, will never even look at her with any sort of desire, but now it's gone midnight and the rain is hammering against the windows and Rhona is in bed with her, kissing her with a tearful desperation that is invisible in daylight. She can't help it: for one glorious moment she strains up into the kiss, fingers clutching at the sheets with the sheer effort of not reaching to pull her closer; a soft noise spills from her throat.

The spell is broken at once.

Rhona sits abruptly, retreats to the end of the bed where darkness hides her expression, and Phyllis feels the tears bubble up in the back of her throat. She forces them down. "What-" Her voice shakes; she tries again. "Rhona-"

But Rhona is shaking her head: " _Don't_."

“Please. Just- just talk to me?”

"I _can't._ You...you ruined this. You ruined _us_. And I don't know how-" She breaks off, stands up from the bed and moves towards the door. "I wish I could hate you."

"I made a mistake! One, stupid, terrible mistake – and god knows I deserve to pay for it, but I don't- I don't _understand_ , Rhona, I don't-"

"There's nothing to understand."

"Nothing to- You _kissed me_!"

"And you _lied to me_ ," Rhona explodes. The supernova of her anger is almost visible in the darkened room. "I trusted you with everything, and you _lied to me_."

"Then why am I still here?! Why have you let me think that there might be the slightest chance for us, Rhona? Why would you do that, except to hurt me?"

The wind and the rain outside have died down to a soft whisper, and Rhona's anger too dissolves into softness: "I don't know what else to do.".

"You need to decide what you want." She shakes her head, focuses down on the duvet cover that her fingers are twisting and twisting and twisting, stills her hands. "But not like this. I'll leave in the morning," she says numbly. "I can't do this."

Rhona offers no resistance.

She doesn't even look at her.

_iv_

The airport is quiet. Passengers waiting to embark sit sleepily around impersonal tables, many of them nursing strong cups of coffee that fill the air with a rich, earthy, aroma at odds with the blandness of the decor. Outside, a faded damp morning lies like a wet blanket over the runway, obscuring the horizon and clinging unflatteringly to the fields beyond.

Phyllis shivers, drawing her coat tighter around herself, and tugs her suitcase closer to the uncomfortable metal bench. Rhona probably isn't even awake yet (the taxi driver who brought her here definitely wasn't), and the thought of her lying asleep, alone, catches awkwardly at her heart.

The barest hint of rain speckles ominously on the windows, the promise of a downpour hanging in the air, but Phyllis' attention is elsewhere, her gaze fixed unseeingly on the scuffed floor, and she doesn't hear the footsteps or register the boots that appear in her field of vision until a soft voice speaks her name and she looks up, startled into a frozen silence: Rhona. She's all softness and curves, hair curling gently at the ends from exposure to the heavy damp nothingness hanging over the entire island, the buttons on her blouse done up in slightly the wrong order, as if she'd dressed in a hurry in the dark, and the beauty of her steals any sophisticated response she might otherwise have managed. "Come to say goodbye?" she says eventually. The hint of bitterness in her voice is tempered with resignation.

But Rhona shakes her head. "I woke up expecting to be angry with you." She offers a tiny smile, there and gone in a second. "Turns out I'm not."

"I'm pleased you've managed to move on." The bitterness is there again, a sharp note of anger that she has no right to bubbling up beneath her usual control, and it's a relief when the intercom announces something vaguely intelligible. "Sorry, that's my flight." She reaches across for her bag, flashes a tight smile up at the interloper.

"Don't go." It comes out in a rush, all pleading and appealing, and Rhona's eyes widen in surprise at herself but she doesn't look away, doesn't flinch from her next words: "I can't let you go again," she says, whisper-soft. "Not if you think there's any chance this-" she waves a hand between them- "could still work."

Her hand is still clutching the handle of the suitcase. "You're asking me to stay?"

Rhona shakes her head. "I'm asking you to start again. With me."

"Start-"

"Somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. As long as we're together – a new start."

For a long second, the airport sounds fade away into a mere background hum, the early morning gloom suddenly brighter as if the sun has followed Rhona here and seeped in through the cracks and frays in the heavy cloud. Phyllis lets out a trembling breath. "You mean it?"

She nods without a second's hesitation, the expression on her face caught at the fragile midpoint between hope and panic.

"And- tell the truth, Rhona, will you ever be able to look at me without remembering what I've done?"

"I'm looking at you now, aren't I?" She shakes her head, silently and disbelievingly dismissing the levity that has escaped her lips unbidden. "Sorry. That's not...sorry."

"That's not an answer," comes the careful response.

"...just tell me you didn't know. "

They've been here before, all anger and recrimination, but now the possibility of forgiveness hangs heavy in the air between them and Phyllis can't look away. "I _swear_. Rhona. I _swear_ I didn't know." The effort it takes to stop from crying tugs at her throat, scratches at the corners of her eyes. "I would have chosen prison over allowing what happened to Tosh, please tell me you believe that."

"...I do." Rhona's smile, when it comes, is soft and radiant, lighting up her face and softening the lines that grief and anger have etched deep into her skin. She reaches out for Phyllis' hand and pulls her to her feet. "Come home with me?"

"Always," Phyllis promises.

_v_

It's nearly midnight, and outside the curtainless windows a new and unfamiliar Glasgow street is half lit by streetlamps. Inside, the candles are burning low, flickering on the windowsills and around the fireplace. The bed's still in pieces, but a bit of digging has found the duvet and blankets, and the mattress has been pushed into the middle of the living room. The remains of a takeaway litter what really ought to be a pristine mantelpiece, transformed by victory into a profane altar crowned with a half-empty bottle of wine.

Rhona grabs the bottle and pours herself half. "Wine out of mugs," she says, turning to offer Phyllis the rest. "Have you ever stooped so low?"

"Excuse me, I was a student too, you know!"

Rhona giggles. "At Oxford. You probably drank out of silver goblets or something."

"Well, now that you mention it-" setting her mug aside, she lifts a hand to Rhona's cheek, soft fingers tracing a familiar path down the side of her neck and across her collarbone, pausing on the swell of her breast where skin meets clothing- "I _am_ used to a certain level of...indulgence...."

"I bet you are." Rhona takes a step back and shivers as the weight of Phyllis' touch falls deliberately down her breast. "Maybe," she says, taking another step back in response as Phyllis moves closer, "you need to learn that you can't always get-" another step- "what you-" her legs hit the dining room table and Phyllis is right there in front of her, all smirking lips and heated eyes. "... _want_ ," she breathes, and closes what little distance there is between them before Phyllis has a chance to contradict her. She tastes of wine and spices, and Rhona slides her hand over layers of cotton blouse and silk bra until Phyllis moans into the kiss.

"No," she breathes, and moves Rhona's hand to her waist, pressing her back to sit on the edge of the table. "You're trying to distract me, and it's my turn."

"Keeping score now, are we?"

"Never." Effortless fingers make quick work of the buttons on Rhona's shirt and trousers; her underwear follows quickly, and then Phyllis' mouth is hot on her breast, tongue circling. "I'm just greedy," she breathes against her skin.

"Entitled." Rhona's voice is more breath than sound.

"I can stop if you'd like-"

" _No_."

Phyllis' lips curve into laughter around her nipple and Rhona moans, leans back on her elbows as warm kisses cover her breasts, move down to her stomach, and then Phyllis is on her knees in front of her and it's all Rhona can do not to come there and then.

Their eyes meet; neither looks away.

"I thought," Phyllis says, "you said something about teaching me a lesson." She kisses the inside of Rhona's thigh. "Something about..." her tongue runs a deliberate line up to the top of her leg and Rhona jerks underneath her "...not always getting what I want?" She pauses, so close that Rhona can feel the warmth of her breath as she speaks: "Well, I want _you_ , so do I have to beg for the privilege?"

"I swear to god, if you don't touch me..."

"Shhhhhh."

"Please, Phyllis." She tries to arch closer to her, tries to reach that teasing mouth herself. "Oh god, _please_."

Something inside Phyllis seems to break at that; she moans, deep and helpless, and then Rhona is trembling under her tongue, soft cries and encouragements growing into breathless incoherence. She comes with a cry that's half pleasure, half relief, and then Phyllis is warm and solid in front of her, stroking her hair and pressing gentle kisses to her bare skin as she helps her gently to her feet and leads her over to the makeshift bed, where she tumbles onto a pile of blankets and nestles herself beneath the covers with a yawn.

Phyllis undresses quickly, hangs her clothes neatly on the back of the door before getting into bed, and tugs at the duvet that Rhona seems to have claimed entirely as her own: "You really must learn to share."

Rhona laughs, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling. "That'll have to change," she says, pointing at the lampshade. "Possibly the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

"I don't know, I quite like it."

"You would." She turns her head slightly, catches Phyllis' eye. "Anyway, crazy book lady, I'm not going to be able to move for bookcases once we've got all this unpacked, so I think I get to pick the lampshades."

"Sounds like a fair trade to me."

"Speaking of fair trades...." Rhona's smile has a wicked edge to it, despite her tiredness.

"There'll be more than enough time for that tomorrow."

"And the next day," she murmurs, tucking herself close against Phyllis' side. "And the day after that...."

"Yes, I do think I'm beginning to see a pattern."

"Clever lady."

Phyllis raises an eyebrow. "I've always thought so."

"Oh, shut up." Her laughter is badly hidden under mock-irritation, and she follows the comment with a kiss pressed gently to the base of Phyllis' throat: "Go to sleep.".

The candles are dying, puddles of wax solidifying around their bases; outside, the streetlights continue to glow warm and protective.

"I love you," Rhona whispers.

Phyllis is already asleep, but it doesn't matter. She'll tell her again tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that, on for the rest of their lives together.

She closes her eyes, and falls asleep.

 


End file.
